


Turnabout

by emmiepsyko



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmiepsyko/pseuds/emmiepsyko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did someone say Hamilburr smut?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in years, and it's shameless smut. I'm considering it something of an icebreaker. Enjoy!

It's not _revenge_ , exactly, nothing quite so nasty as that. Just a bit of...turnabout. Is that the same thing? Hamilton would probably have something to say on the subject. Hamilton has something to say on every subject, which is, of course, precisely the problem. If Burr is being honest, he has to admit he's come to occasionally -- _occasionally_ \-- find the man's incessant rambling endearing, and that's not even mentioning the things that spill from his mouth when they're in bed together.

Perhaps that's the real problem -- there's not exactly a lot of opportunity for that sort of thing in the field, especially with a partner as ill-equipped for subtlety as Hamilton. Listening to him go on, Burr isn't completely sure if he wants to shut him up, or just wants the excuse to kiss him.

Both, he decides -- Hamilton truly is being particularly obnoxious today -- and an idea is born.

x

"Fuck," Hamilton pants against his neck. "Burr, we can't -- this isn't -- oh fuck, you're going to have to gag me." For him, this positively counts as foresight. However...

"I have a better idea," Burr says, maneuvering them onto the bedroll. They're both hard already, disheveled and breathing hard. 

"Which is?"

"You're going to be quiet for me."

Hamilton, ironically enough, only shoots him a look at this, and it manages to convey every bit as well as his typical tirades the likelihood of that scenario. Burr smirks down at him, stroking him ever so lightly through his breeches, eliciting a gasp. 

"You're going to be very, very quiet...or I'm going to stop touching you." He backs off, illustrating his point, and Hamilton whines at the loss. "For every sound you make, we're going to stop until you get yourself under control." He lets his fingers wander over the front of the other man's pants again, and there's a sound, but it's stifled, Hamilton's lips clamped tightly together.

Well, he always was a quick study. 

"Unless, of course, you'd rather not," he pushes. "I do understand if it's too much for you, if you'd rather go..." He rolls a fabric-covered nipple between his fingers, knowing that the combination of challenge and sensation guarantee Hamilton will do no such thing. 

" _God_ ," he says through clenched teeth, and true to his word, Burr backs off again. " _Okay_ ," Hamilton grits out. "Just...make it quick."

Burr contemplates intentionally misunderstanding, but he knows what Hamilton means, knows whatever modicum of control he has won't last long. "That's up to you," he says. "Make it quiet, and it'll be quick."

x

"Burr, please..."

It's quiet, a near-whisper, whether to keep Burr's hands on him or out of a genuine desire not to be overheard. He suspects Hamilton's too far gone to care about, or even remember, the latter. And as for the former...

"No... _fuck_ ," Hamilton whines as he pulls away for perhaps the tenth time. Hamilton is, if anything, even worse at this game than anticipated. It's delightful. Although, Burr has to admit, he's edging close to real frustration himself -- having the other man naked and writhing beneath him, trying desperately (and failing utterly) to stifle his moans and whimpers is certainly not without affect on him. He's not sure how much longer he'll be able to push this before taking pity on the both of them. He probably _will_ have to gag Hamilton, he thinks. The man is getting louder with each pause, exactly as Burr had know he would. He doesn't actually expect him to come silently, or even to retain his flagging control much longer.  
However -- Hamilton doesn't need to know that.

"Shh," Burr murmurs, not unkindly, stroking down his sides.

"I can't...I can't..." Burr pulls away yet again (Hamilton whines, but very quietly), his face a mask of false concern. 

"Maybe we should stop," he says (a louder whine). "It wouldn't do to be overheard."

"No...god, _please_." It's a breath, the words barely audible, and Burr leans in close to murmur just as quietly into Hamilton's ear:

"Get it together, then."

x

It's strange, but he finds himself almost... _proud_ of the effort Hamilton is clearly making for him. When he finally takes him in his mouth, Hamilton actually clamps a hand over his own mouth, and Burr is suddenly torn between rewarding him for the restraint, simply letting him come, and dragging this out even further because that is _hot as shit_.

He's gone from trying to teach some sort of lesson, take some sort of control, to simply eating up the vision of Hamilton flushed and panting, clearly frantic and still trying so very hard for him.

He draws away. Hamilton shakes his head frantically, eyes pleading, but his lips are clamped together. "Good," Burr says, stroking a hand down his thigh as he reaches for the lube. Deciding to forgive a rather fervent exhalation, he returns to his previous position.

He devours the other man's reactions as he alternates between blowing him and prepping him, both ever so slowly. The hand finds its way back to Hamilton's mouth, barely stifling his cries, then he's clutching at the bedroll, hips arching, tears leaking from behind screwed-shut eyelids. His lips are swollen, alternately pressed tight and open around a silent yell. 

"Good boy," Burr mutters as he finally slides into him. "You're doing so well. Just a little more..." He means it; he won't last much longer himself. 

Hamilton keens at the feeling of being filled, soft but steady, panting against Burr's neck as he begins to fuck him slowly. He keeps up the steady pace, barely trusting his own control at this point, as Hamilton writhes, needing faster, harder, more, suckling at the flesh of his neck as a makeshift gag. He's not so much whining now as simply panting, but it still somehow carries the edge of a whimper.

Burr increases the tempo slightly, unable to help himself as Hamilton gasps against his skin, lips moving wordlessly, and then less so -- "please," he's saying, _breathing_ , and Burr knows the words wouldn't be audible were Hamilton's lips not mere millimeters from his ear, "please, can't, please," and Burr has a moment to wish fervently that he could truly push the man to his limit. He suspects it's fast approaching, suspects that, effort be damned, if he kept this up, Hamilton's volume would soon increase again. Suspects that he could make him _scream_.

He promises himself, _next time_ , next time they're truly alone, and then, teetering on the edge himself, he takes Hamilton in his hand, and it's mere moments before they're coming, near-simultaneously, Hamilton's teeth coming down on the flesh of his shoulder, and even as he spills between their bodies, he's clearly trying to stifle his shout. Burr feels another surge of that strange pride.

It's awhile before they come down, their gradually-slowing breathing sounding extremely loud after the sustained silence. Hamilton speaks first.

"That was..." he trails off, still sounding rather dazed.

"Beautiful," Burr murmurs, then glances away as Hamilton's eyes search his face, feeling like with that single word he's given far too much away.

But Hamilton only murmurs, "yeah," linking their fingers together, and he finds he doesn't really mind.


End file.
